"Shot it on the road," he replied proudly, mistaking her shock for admiration. "Gonna be mighty good eating tonight. Tastes just like beef, they say."
"That thing must be worth at least fifteen thousand dollars," Mama exclaimed, putting a hand on her heart as if to keep it from leaping out of her chest.
"Not anymore," I couldn't resist saying.
Mama glared at Flip. "You've destroyed someone's private property."
"No one'll find out," he said. "Come on, honey, hold the door open so I can bring it inside and butcher it."
"You're not about to bring that into my trailer, you crazy dumbass! Take it away. Take it away now\ You're going to get us both arrested for this."
Flip was plainly bewildered that his gift was so unappreciated. Seeing the storm about to come, I mumbled something about returning to the patio and retreated to a spot behind the corner of the trailer. In the minutes that followed it was likely most of Bluebonnet Ranch heard Mama screaming that she'd had it, there was no way she was going to put up with him another minute. Disappearing into the trailer, she rummaged around for a short time, then came back with an armload of denim and boots and men's underwear. She flung the lot of it onto the ground. "Take your stuff and get out of here now!"
"You call me crazy?" Flip shouted back. "You're out of your gourd, woman! Quit throwing my things like—Hey, stop that!" It began to rain T-shirts and hunting magazines and foam beer can holders, the effluvia of Flip's life of leisure. Swearing and huffing indignantly. Flip gathered the objects from the ground and hurled them into his truck.
In less than ten minutes Flip had driven away from the trailer, his wheels spinning, gravel flying behind him. All that remained was the hulk of a headless emu. deposited right in front of our door.
Mama was breathing heavily, her face crimson. "That useless jackass," she muttered. "Should have gotten rid of him a long time ago.. .an emu, for Christ's sake..."
"Mama," I asked, coming to stand beside her. "Is Flip gone for good?"
"Yes, " she said vehemently.
I stared at the mountainous carcass. "What are we going to do with it?"
"I have no idea." Mama scrubbed her hands through her pale, rumpled hair. "But we've got to dispose of the evidence. That bird was worth a lot to somebody...and I'm not paying for it."
"Somebody should eat it." I said.
Mama shook her head and groaned. "That thing is one step up from road kill."
I thought for a moment, and inspiration struck. "The Cateses," I said.
Mama's gaze met mine, and gradually the scowl on her face was replaced by reluctant humor. "You're right. Go get Hardy."
To hear the Cateses tell it later, there had never been such a feast. And it went on for days. Emu steaks, emu stew, emu sandwiches, and chili con emu. Hardy had taken the bird to Earl's Meat Market, where the butcher, after promising strict confidentiality, had a high time processing it into fans, fillets, and ground meat.
Miss Judie even sent over an emu casserole for Mama and me, made with Tater Tots and Hamburger Helper. I tried it and thought it was one of Miss Judie's better efforts. But Mama, who was watching me with a doubtful gaze, suddenly turned green and fled the kitchenette, and I heard her getting sick in the bathroom.
"I'm sorry, Mama," I said anxiously through the door. "I won't eat the casserole anymore if it makes you sick. I'll throw it out. I'll—"
"It's not the casserole." she said in a guttural voice. I heard the sounds of her spitting. and the gurgle of the toilet flush. The water spigot was turned on as Mama began to brush her teeth.
"What is it, Mama? Did you get a virus?"
"Uh-uh."
"Then—"
"We'll talk about it later, honey. Right now I need some—" She stopped for another spit. PtlPtl "Privacy."
"Yes, ma'am."
It puzzled me that Mama should have told Miss Marva she was pregnant before she told anyone else, including me. They had become friends in no time, despite the fact that they were so different. Seeing them together was like watching a swan keeping company with a redheaded woodpecker. But they shared a certain steeliness underneath their dissimilar exteriors. They were both strong women who were willing to pay the price for their independence.
I figured out Mama's secret one evening when she was talking in our kitchenette with Miss Marva, who had brought over a delicious peach cobbler with layers of sopping juice-soaked crust inside. Sitting in front of the TV with a dish and a spoon in my lap. I caught a few whispered words between them.
'"...don't see why he should ever be told..." Mama said to Miss Marva.